


The Scorpion Part 4: The Voyeur

by devilgoat



Series: The Scorpion [4]
Category: Halloween (2018), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, Choking, Fingering, Frottage, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Masks, Masturbation, Murder, Oral Sex, Other, Spanking, Voyeurism, trans!michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 20:17:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16688251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilgoat/pseuds/devilgoat
Summary: Michael is watching and hunting his prey. Will you survive the hunter and his desire?





	The Scorpion Part 4: The Voyeur

Michael took a deep breath to steady himself, and then stood still. That’s all it was and all it took. He stood for hours and hours in one spot, invisible to everything and everyone. The world around him faded. The rustling of autumn leaves died down to a whisper, the distant noises of traffic became a hum, and the world grew quiet under his blanket of hyperfixation. There was nothing that mattered to him, except for the hunt. And his prey.

A prey, alone at home in the dim light of its home. The hunter was observing, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

Michael had been watching them for hours. He did not move, he did not eat, in fact, he barely even breathed. He just stood there, watching, only ever changing positions when his prey moved around their hovel.

The prey was young, strong, and capable of defending itself from most intruders. But not Michael. No, of course not. Not the Shape that hunted and hunted his prey until he could empty them.

He was waiting to empty this one. It was so full now. It watched tv, ate its dinner, watched more tv, did laundry, watched even more tv. Michael was getting used to its cycles of habits. It seemed to be most vulnerable in its living room, its body growing stagnant on the couch as it focused on the screen.

It would be an understatement to say that Michael felt something...unique...when watching his prey. Like a key turning into a lock, it opened up something inside of him. Longing, maybe? Or was it malice? Curiosity? Or hatred? Maybe it was none of those things. Maybe it was all of them. No one would ever know, for not even Michael knew. He was both present and absent. He had become the Shape, or maybe he was the Shape all along.

For years, doctors tried to understand him. They tried to open him up by crafting their own key to his makeshift door. Key after key failed until they finally realized that there was no lock, there was not even a door at all. Only a wall. A wall surrounding something no one could understand. Michael was a fortress with no entrance and no exit. His moat housed man-eating crocodiles that tore apart any intruders. Even those crocodiles didn’t eat the trespassers; instead they only ripped and shredded the bleeding meat into unidentifiable bits that would float in the water. Michael was impenetrable...for the most part.

Finally, like the air being let out of a balloon or a great wave crashing to shore, Michael began to move once more. His body creaked slightly in its stiffness, but that did not slow his pace. He was focused on the hunt, and nothing and no one would be able to stop him once he began to move. Not bullets, not begging, not crying. Nothing. The Shape continued.

Michael found that despite his occasional hunts, the town of Haddonfield, Illinois did not worry about The Boogeyman stalking the night. They didn’t lock their doors for the most part. It wouldn’t have mattered if they did. He flowed through the shadows of a back yard until he arrived at the back door. Light was shining through the glass panes installed into it. If the prey had turned its head and looked through the window, it would have been able to see the white rubber of a mask staring back at it.

But of course it did not turn, and it did not see.

Michael opened the door and entered the prey’s shelter without a sound. He crept through the house with only his goal in mind. He didn’t care about the photos or evidence of life that decorated the walls. Michael only needed to complete the hunt.

He was behind it now. It was resting its body on the couch, its mind and eyes focused on the tv screen in front of it. Michael stood there and watched along with it for a moment. He hardly took the time to watch tv anymore. Things were so different now, and he didn’t understand it, but he wanted to know why the prey was so entranced by it. He stood there longer than he meant to. The screen turned black in order to transition to a commercial, revealing Michael in its reflection for only half a second. But that’s all that it took.

The prey saw him, and in the time it took for the tv to switch back to the commercial, the prey acted on its animal instincts and bolted up from the couch and swiveled around. But it was futile. It tripped over the coffee table and had fallen to the ground.

In just a few long strides of his agile legs, Michael rounded the couch and stood above the animal in front of him. He grabbed it by the front of its shirt and pulled it up into the air. Its weight was nothing to him as it was lifted up with an extended arm. Its feet dangled and swung in an effort to find some kind of purchase.

The tv screen’s glow reflected against his knife. It rose slowly. Just slow enough that the prey could see it and it shook with fear. Surprisingly, it did not scream. It’s mouth contorted into silent cries with only a slight squeak escaping it. This was Michael’s favorite part. He watched its eyes grow wide and noticed its skin growing pale from fright.

Michael felt a stirring deep inside of himself. Something he couldn’t even hope to describe. It was something he both desired and felt revulsion towards. It twisted in his gut and forced his breathing to grow faster. It twisted and twisted until he felt it explode as the knife sunk deep into the flesh of his prey. The vibrations of the knife slicing through meat reverberated up his hand, down his arm, and into his chest. It bore itself a hole there and he felt a relief as the twist in his gut disappeared. But he wanted more of it. More and more until he couldn’t bear it.

He emptied his prey, and watched the life slip out of it. Michael kept the knife in until he heard the trickling of blood hit the hardwood floor in light little pinpricks. The knife came out much smoother than it had gone in, and he held the corpse up and watched it drain like a sliced pig. Fascinated by the way the red soaked through its clothes and down its legs, Michael found himself holding it up and watching for quite a while. The dripping slowed, and he tossed the body aside. He was done with it now. It was empty, and the longing feeling that disgusted him began to creep back in.

Michael arched his head up in reflection. He made a sigh only he could hear. He had been reckless and had let his guard down. He should have struck when he could, when the prey hadn’t seen him yet. Why did he care about what was on the television? None of that mattered. Was he going soft? Careless?

He shook his head and threw the thought out of his head.

What mattered now was filling the longing. The sweet, delicious, revolting twist in his stomach had to be eased once more. He needed to find prey and empty it too.

The Boogeyman left the house as quickly as he had come and drifted off into the shadows. The autumn air sent a breeze that blew through his clothes and nipped at his skin. Darkness had settled down on the little town rather quickly in the night, providing the perfect camouflage for the Shape to flow through.

He traveled through backyards, through dimly lit streets, and down a few blocks before settling on another house. It was just far away from the first house that he would not be disturbed for some time. He felt the twist grow inside of him.

Michael slowed in front of one of the little house’s windows. A figure walked past it, minding its own business as it made itself some dinner. Michael felt drawn to the warmth of the house. He took a few steps closer to the window. Hidden in the darkness, he enjoyed watching his new prey. The tunnel formed and his hyper focus drew him closer to the window. The prey inside was unaware of his presence, and he allowed himself to be so close to the window that the warm light inside reflected on the white of his mask. The dark eyeholes of the mask bore into the prey inside.

The prey was so at home. So vulnerable and defenseless. It cooked itself dinner and rested itself on its couch with its back to Michael.

He felt the twist in his gut grow stronger.

Michael let out a small wince from the feeling inside him. It felt wrong and he wanted to get rid of it. But he couldn’t stop watching his prey. He was up against the window now, his hand slowly edging up until it rested against the pane of the glass. The heat rising from his body and hand made the glass grow foggy almost immediately, and he pulled away just as quickly.

Watching his prey was entertainment to him. But also more than that. The more he watched it carry out its menial life, the stronger the twist in his gut grew. It tugged and stabbed at his insides, making a feeling of discomfort settle at the bottom of his stomach. It hurt him, but at the same time, he enjoyed it. It was a great, insatiable need, and it caused a chill to run through his body. It heightened his senses and made his heart try to escape his chest.

The prey was moving now.

It had finished its dinner and was putting its dirty dishes in the sink. It was moving throughout its hovel now, and it went down the hallway and into a different room. Michael lost sight of his prey, and moved around the back of the house to another window. He stood in the faint glow that flowed from the light inside, and got just a bit too close to glass. His prey was in its room, and was resting on its bed.

Michael tilted his head as he watched it start its own little ritual.

It slowly undressed itself from the waist down and threw the clothes off to the side. The lights were low and warm, and the figure looked like it was made of honey. So very slowly, the prey moved its hand down and - much to Michael’s confusion - began to touch itself. Its hand knew itself quite well, and its fingers brushed and stroked along the length of itself. It gripped and tugged, and its moans grew louder over time that it was able to reach through the window and past Michael’s mask.

Michael shuffled in place at the noise. The twist in his gut hurt even more. He found himself drawn closer to the window until he was right against it, directly across from the prey inside. He was able to see how its body writhed in pleasure, and he could see every movement its hand was doing to itself.

Something strange was happening to Michael. The twist turned and tugged at his insides, and the pain and discomfort became unbearable. His body was growing hot, too hot for his coveralls. It was if he were running a fever throughout his entire body and he just could not take it. Michael unzipped his coveralls to try to escape the heat. But it didn’t help. He felt nauseous and jittery and hungry and warm and everything. His fingers accidentally brushed his chest and he shivered. Not from the cold, oh no, but the touch made the twist waver. He used his own hand to explore his chest, going down farther until it hit his stomach and farther still when —

Michael doubled over from his own touch. His hot breath was escaping from underneath the mask, forming a translucent cloud as the hot air intermingled with the cold autumn breeze. Michael had to brace himself by putting his hand on the window frame, his other hand melding to his own flesh. His panting was growing louder and his fingers were touching him in a way that he did not know that they could. The twist was aggravating, and it collected itself in the core of his body.

Michael lifted his head up when he heard more moans break through the glass between him and his prey. It was still there on the bed, letting out loose its moans without a care as its hand started moving faster along its body. Michael watched this, and tried to mimic the movements with himself. His fingers did the same: they slid against himself or pressed or grabbed as he copied his prey movement by movement. The tips of his fingers grazed the tip of his body and he grunted from the sensation. The tips of his fingers extended to their entire length, and then to the palm of his hand. It was as if his hand had a mind of its own as it cupped and slid back and forth against his groin. He found himself leaking, already staining his coveralls and smothering his hand with juices. Hid fingers brushed past the hair there to the sweet, hungry, hot center of his mound that twitched and pulsated. His hips were rocking with the tempo set by his prey. Michael’s fingers were sliding easily along his flesh now, already drenched in himself. His panting was deafening and the only thing faster than his heartbeat was the rhythm of his hand along himself. Michael stroked faster and faster, his hand growing rough with even himself as he pinched and shook himself. With one last shuddering moan, Michael came against his hand; his entire body convulsed and shook as he almost doubled over. His spare hand caught himself on the window as the other continued to stroke his wet flesh until it hurt. His legs trembled underneath him. He zipped up his coveralls.

His coveralls were absolutely drenched with himself as he spied the prey’s final shake as it gasped and screamed from its own pleasure. He watched the prey’s body tremble and heave.

Michael realized for the first time the sort of things his hands could do to himself. But no matter how much he touched himself, the ache in his stomach would not go away. He needed more. He was hungry. He wanted to feed.

Michael could have easily stood there all night, but he needed you.

——  
You were still breathing heavily as you settled into your post-orgasmic bliss. You don’t remember the last time you masturbated now that Michael was around and more comfortable with you. But tonight he was running late, and you had given up on him arriving that night. So you decided to take matters into your own hands and decided to rub one out before bed. You came much harder and faster than you meant to, but at least you were satisfied and only needed to get ready for bed.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed and got up to brush your teeth. You got to the door of your room until you heard the distinct sound of the back door opening. That meant Michael was on his way in. You couldn’t help but feel butterflies in your chest at just the mere thought of him in your home. Despite the fact that his visits began months ago, you were still head over heels for him. You had already admitted to yourself that you loved him, even with the things he had done and will do, but it was who he was.

And you were who you were. That was all there was but you were somehow still enough. And Michael was here and your body would fill up with warmth.

You pulled the door open and before you could even let go of the doorknob, Michael’s large, tall frame came through the threshold. His hands were on and around you, and he used his strong grip to pick you up. You could feel every microsecond of him on you, every cell pressing against your skin. You felt the air underneath your feet as you were lifted up into the air, as well as the pressure of his fingers as they gripped you. The air rushed out of your lungs as you were swept up both literally and figuratively. You didn’t expect him to grab you like this, and it wasn’t until you fell back against your bed, laughter escaping you, that you realized what his aggressiveness meant.

Any other person would be scared out of their minds. Michael Myers just grabbed you off your feet and threw you onto your bed. They would be screaming and crying. And you? You were just getting horny.

You had only just gotten down masturbating, and you tried to let Michael know in the least embarrassing way possible that you were still sensitive to his touch, but his hands on you showed that he wouldn’t care either way.

He was on top of you, straddling your hips in such a way that it felt like he was meant to be there. His hands wrapped themselves around your throat with a force that you didn’t expect. You hadn’t taken a breath in preparation, and now you were already seeing stars and dots in your vision. The stars danced over the ceiling and fell down to Michael’s mask. You could see his eyes through the holes, and they scared you. His eyes were wild, the whites of them showing around his dark irises. His panting was all you could hear. It was ragged and strong. If you knew better you would say it sounded like he was panicked. He stared at you with his wild animal eyes. He looked like he wanted to hurt you. Michael scared you, and you liked it.

You were gasping for breath. You had finally healed from the bruises he had left you the first time he choked you, but he was very generous with his reapplication. You were lightheaded, floating, and Michael brought you back to earth when he let go of your throat. You forced as much air to go into your lungs as possible. You let out a short “Mic-“ before The Shape’s hands were around your throat once more. You were shaking from the adrenaline coursing through your body.

It took more than a few moments to realize that one of Michael’s hands had shifted and was exploring the rest of your body. This hand was light on your skin. It was just barely touching the hairs on your body, and if you weren’t getting the life choked out of you, you would’ve been a bit ticklish. His hand was very careful with you, so gentle that it felt like he was scared of breaking you. And yet his other hand was choking the life out you.

You felt his body rise off you and his hand beginning to rub the rest of you. You felt your body responding to his touch, especially as it got lower and lower. And then, you felt the desperate need to breathe. Your hands rose up to grab at Michael’s arm, and as soon as you did so you realized your mistake. Michael let out an animalistic grunt at your touch and removed his gentle hand from your body. The gentle hand tore your fingers away from his arm, while his rough hand squeezed and squeezed and squeezed. Your hands were above your head, held by your wrists in Michael’s hand. You were not frail, you were not weak, and yet he held your arms with no obvious exertion of strength. It was like holding down a pile of papers in the wind.

Your vision was becoming blurrier with each passing second, and right before you felt yourself on the edge of consciousness, Michael let go of your throat.

Your lungs filled with precious air, only to be propelled outwards once more with harsh coughing from your damaged throat. You felt the sting flowing out from your throat and spread throughout your entire body. It felt like the rest of you deflated completely, the bountiful strength held inside yourself already used up. All of your focus was on breathing and reactivating the parts of your mind that were being choked out.

It took a few moments to realize that Michael was watching you. He was watching the desperation in your breathing, the thick need for something that he had the power of giving or taking as he saw fit. He was fascinated by it, and you knew that. He enjoyed the power. He enjoyed the control. Michael Myers had a sadistic streak and you were on the receiving end of it. And you were enjoying every moment of it.

Just as you were getting used to having air in your lungs again, Michael placed his hand right on your sweet spot and stroked a few rough stripes. The sensitivity of the area made it hurt, and you let out a pained moan. It was obvious that it hurt, and Michael loved doing it to you for that exact reason. He was teasing your body now, and each touch made your body jerk and twitch from the overstimulation. It made you ache and squirm under his touch, and it was becoming torture. Behind a raspy throat, you tried to beg.

“Michael...please...it hurts,” you gasped for air after just a few words, and you could already feel the damage he had done to your throat. As soon as the last word escaped your lips, his hand moved away from you. You almost cried out in relief at the sudden absence of stimulation. You felt yourself throbbing, literally pulsing with each beat of your heart. Your relief did not last long.

Using his heavy, veiny hands to slip underneath your torso, he flipped you over and your blankets and bed immediately smothered your face. You let out a sharp cry as he held you down, one hand already on the back of your neck. You were pinned down, defenseless, and his hand was on you, on there. Michael’s hand had snuck between your legs and reached underneath you, using you as much as you could handle and even more than that. You were crying out, squirming, from the stimulation and it hurt so bad. And Michael knew this. He knew this and he knew you liked it and he was going to break you. You realized that now. You had no idea what set him off but he had a need and he was going to empty you of every ounce of willpower that you had.

Your voice was slightly muffled on the bed, that is, until Michael gripped you by the hair and pulled your head up in a harsh snap. Your throat hurt too much to cry out, but you tried anyways. It came out as more of a croak than anything else.

He was playing with you, toying with your body and willpower as best he knew how. He was a hungry, desperate animal ready to devour your entire mind, body, and soul. The pain was heightening every one of your senses to the point that you were completely aware of what Michael was doing around you. You could feel his body shift around you, moving behind you and pressing against your ass, his hand still tugging and pulling at you hair.

Michael let out a strong, animalistic grunt, and took your wrists and held them behind your back. Your back and neck were aching the longer he kept them in his grasp. You could feel the muscles moving in your throat as you tried to swallow in vain. The Shape gave another harsh grunt and shook your wrists, telling you in his own way that you should not move them, and you didn’t. You kept your wrists there as he let go and you heard the telltale sound of his coverall’s zipper being undone. Your entire body was pounding with your heartbeat as you were bracing yourself for what was to come.

Michael did not undress himself completely, no, because that would take too long and he needed you now. He needed to take you, to own you completely. You tried to imagine the scars that littered his torso. Especially the two long, horizontal scars on either side of his chest. Without any sort of warning, he stuck three of his fingers into you. His long, thick, probing fingers explored your entrance, shoving themselves down to the hilt before curling and hitting the special spot inside of you. You let out a deep moan as you felt yourself finally coming back from your earlier orgasm. But he didn’t like that.

The Boogeyman let out a roar so deep and dangerous that you tightened yourself around his fingers instinctively. The hand in your hair pulled your head back once more, just far enough to be able to look into his eyes. They were manic with fury and you could tell that he was not his usual self. You would not dare make another sound if you could help it. You didn’t want to find out what would happen. Or maybe you did.

He forced your head back down into the pillows and continued his quick, forceful thrusts into you with his fingers. He was stretching you, preparing you for what was coming. He kept jamming against your special spot until it became outright painful. You bit your lip so hard that it began to bleed.

It was obvious when Michael could not wait any longer because his fingers disappeared from inside you as quickly as they had arrived. You felt a slickness graze your crotch. He had been fully aroused this entire time, with only his coveralls protecting you from his heat. Now with the thin barrier of fabric gone, you felt every molecule of his hot wetness pressing against your entrance. Your teeth were slicing through your lip. His hand resumed its position on your wrists. You were his to take.

His warmth drew a chill down your spine. He slid himself across your length and entrance, and got just a bit of himself in. You couldn’t help it this time, as you let out a sharp moan. You slammed your mouth shut the moment it escaped your lips, but it was too late. He heard and stopped his movements. Michael pulled himself away, and the next thing you felt was hot searing pain against your right buttocks. Your arms, no longer restrained, leapt outwards and clawed at the sheets around you. You let out a cry from the sudden pain. The Shape did not go easy on you. His large, rough palm slammed against your soft flesh with a force that made the smack echo through the room. Blood rushed through the sensitive tissue, and quickly marked the exact place were his hand slapped against you. And then he did it again. And again. And again.

Michael’s hand rose high into the air above the both of you before it fell down onto your flesh. With each spank, you could feel the small blood vessels burst from the force of each hit, quickly leaving your ass red from his hand. You cried out at first, but after a few slaps, the air no longer vibrated sound through your cords, and the only let out soft wheezes. Tears stung the corners of your eyes and threatened to fall. He had finally made you quiet like he wanted you to be. He gripped your ass with his harsh fingers before he resumed their position of restraint.

This time he forced four fingers into your entrance, stretching your tightness just from their girth alone. Your mouth opened in a silent scream, and you arched you head up in pain. His fingers began to spread themselves out inside of you, stretching the tight muscles of your entrance until the skin thinned and threatened to break.

You could hear Michael panting above you, his breathing a bit shaky as he felt the adrenaline and lust flow through his body and ended down at his wet mess. Both of your bodies were shaking. One from pain, and one from pleasure. He put pressure on your arms and back and pressed you down into the bed before he began to slap his hips against yours. You felt the faint jiggle of your ass as he slammed against it, and he smeared his hot wetness against your entrance.

The blood from your lip was staining your sheets, and the force of his body behind you forced you to dig your teeth into them once more. You could feel the protruding hardness bundled up in his crotch pressed against your hole. It bumped and rubbed around you, and he made sure to coat your entire ass in his juices. His warmth pressed and rubbed against you before it managed to press itself inside and start fucking you. The pace quickened and it quickened immediately. He was slamming into you with such a force that it caused your bed to creak and shake. Your entire body was sliding up before his rough hands pulled you back down onto himself.

As hard as you tried, you couldn’t stop the moans from coming out. His hot, warm, wet flesh slid in and out of you without a single pause, the friction pulling and grabbing at the walls inside of you, almost tugging them out with the force of himself. His girth stretched you to your limit, his fingers a futile attempt at preparing you.

At first, you did not realize that your moans were your own, and you were shocked by the fact that his punishment resumed. He slapped your left cheek just as hard as he did the right, although this time he did not stop the abuse on your hole. The first spank made you let out a curt yell due to its ferocity, but you quickly learned your lesson when the slapping did not stop. His hands landed with such brute force that you could feel the bruises already developing. But even after you were quiet, he did not stop. His hands continued their attack on your soft flesh, leaving more and more marks as they moved to your thighs and back again. The tears were flowing now and you knew they would not stop anytime soon.

To your surprise, he was the one making more noise. Michael was panting and grunting like an animal in heat. He was full of desire and he desired to hurt you and he was succeeded. Your hole was being rubbed raw and he did not care. He was jamming himself in, his concentration focused on his own pleasure and punishment. With his left hand spanking you, his right returned to your neck. Your arms were limp and useless beside you, and his hand on your neck pressed down and kept you in place. Tears were streaming but your eyes had gone as blank as your mind. Your body refused to move in the way you wanted it to, and it remained limp and useless underneath you. Michael’s thrusts remained fast and steady as he tried to make himself cum as quickly as possible. He was forcing as much of himself inside you, and you were taking all that he could provide. His slaps and spanks were growing stronger, and that’s how you knew he was getting closer. The pain was absolutely unbearable, but you made no sound. Your flesh and skin were growing numb with his hard slaps. All you could do was imagine his massive hands slamming into you, causing the little blood vessels in your fleshy bits to burst and grow dark under his fingers. In that moment you wished you could see his hands hurting you this way so you could remember the sweet, delicious pain forever.

You felt his upper body begin to lower as he rested on top of you. You could hear the muffled breathing behind his mask as he was coming closer and closer. With a final, harsh slap - the sound echoing through the room once more - you felt his entire body shake and a strained grunt escape from behind the mask. He thrusted into you few more times as he came, and relished in the slick wetness between the two of you. He removed himself from you and sat back on his haunches to look over his work.

You could only imagine the dark shades of purple or blue that he had left on you, as well as your ruined and loosened hole after he had used so much on you. You tightened from his absence, still aching. Michael slid his hot wetness against your entrance a few more times, leaving your ruined hole slick and moist.

He grabbed you by your sides and flipping you over to face him. You winced from the pain of the sudden contact of your bruised buttocks against the bed, but you didn’t make a sound. Michael snuck his hand behind your head and pulled it forward until you needed to prop yourself up by the elbows. He presented his wet mess to you. He was dripping and oozing from deep inside and it slid against your sternum and chin. Your mouth ran on instinct and licked up the wet folds of skin that had gotten swollen with his juices. You greedily licked and swallowed his precious nectar, taking in as much as you could with your tongue until your bleeding lips were sucking and slurping every inch.

Michael tilted his head and watched the trickle of red smear against himself as you licked him clean of yourself. You knew this must’ve hurt him at least a little, but the way his muscles twitched signified that he enjoyed it.

Once satisfied, Michael removed himself from your face and let go of you. You fell back into the bed and laid there in a daze. His panting was dying down above you, and it took a few moments to register that he was still staring at you. Only your eyes could move freely, and even then, they were blurry with tears.

His hands rose once more and you braced yourself.

But instead of a slap you felt the gentle brush of his hand against your cheek. You let out a small whimper to test to wagers to see if it was alright and that his rough play had ended. He gave you a tilt of his head in reassurance and you sighed happily. You were aching and in pain, but satisfied. You had very well told him before that you could take what he gave you, and he did not disappoint.

Suddenly, to your surprise, he shifted your body to pull your legs apart. You braced yourself once more, ready for round two. But instead of forcing fingers into your not-so-tight hole, you heard the release of his breathing from his mask and knew he had raised it above his lips. You didn’t look down, for you knew that just looking at his face would give him more than enough reason to kill you. You felt the lip of the rubber mask graze your pelvis as only his lips and nose were exposed to the fresh air. Almost immediately, his large tongue was flat and out against your length.

You let out a wheeze from your damaged throat as much needed pleasure flowed through your body. His soft, full lips were sucking and kissing against your groin, shooting wave after wave of pleasure up your spine. Moans more readily left your lips now, and your hands gripped the sheets on either side of you. The Shape’s heavenly tongue rubbed up and down your entire length, tasting ever inch of you. He was not rough or fast. He took his time and remained gentle with you. He licked and kissed and sucked until you were a quivering mess. With one last long trail of saliva up your length, your legs shook and trembled as you came. Your shaky breath eventually calmed, and before you knew it, you were wrapped up in Michael’s arms. His slow, steady heartbeat calmed the both of you, and in that moment you did not mind the pain throughout your body. In fact, you enjoyed it much more than you thought you would.

And then you knew the true nature of the scorpion.  
——  
Michael took a deep breath and was still. The Prey was in his arms, empty and used. The twist in his stomach had dissipated, and the discomfort was gone.

For now.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 4 is finally here! I hope it turned out okay and I'm hoping to start a new series around Bubba Sawyer. But don't worry! The Scorpion is not over!


End file.
